


White Knight, Knave of Hearts

by Ursula



Category: Burn Notice, White Collar
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of Steal Yourself Away, Peter Burke gets a note from Neal Caffrey asking for his help. Caffrey is imprisoned in the dreadful Yanomayo prison in Peru under brutal conditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Knight, Knave of Hearts

Title: White Knight, Knave of Hearts

Author: Ursula

Rating: NC 17

Genre and/or Pairing: Neal and Peter

Spoilers: only for the series in general

Warnings: Violence

Notes: Follows Steal Yourself Away and yes, I borrowed Sam Axe from Burn Notice. I'll put him back when I'm done. A little homage to my first slash pairing hidden here too. Beta Credit to News Bean

Forget playing with the same deck, Peter and Neal weren't even in the same game.

Disclaimer:   
1\. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

OooOooO

The letter had a Peruvian stamp and it looked as if it came over via llama, dirty and worn.

"Peru?" Peter remarked. "Who do I know in Peru?"

Elizabeth was on her way out the door so she answered only with a shrug and a kiss.

Peter was on a mandatory vacation. He had accumulated so much leave that he was on orders to spend two weeks down. It wouldn't have been so bad if El hadn't been in the middle of her busiest season. She was gone more than she was at home. She had told Peter to take a real vacation, but one he would have to endure without her. He had been gifted with a moderate amount of money from his great uncle, Napoleon, and had been pondering how to spend it, but he couldn't imagine having much fun without El.

Opening the letter, Peter recognized the handwriting immediately with a painful, bewildering surge of emotion so strong that he had to lean on the doorway of his house for a moment. He shut the door and sat down.

It had been four months since Peter had a lead on Neal, an amazing length of time for renaissance thief, Caffrey, to go without a scam, a blip on the horizon. It had also been two months since Peter's birthday, and Neal had not sent him one of his hand drawn cards. It had been three years since Peter had discovered Neal was the thief, the bond's forger, the confidence man that was racking up crimes as if scoring points on a video game. Peter had been chasing Neal for three years.

Peter walked over to his safe, a paranoid piece of furniture El hated. He opened it and took out the fire proof box that contained his and El's social security cards, their marriage certificate, life insurance policies, mortgage documents, and nine cards from Neal. Three of them were for Peter's birthday, three for Christmas, and the last three for his and El's anniversary.

The first card Peter had crumpled and thrown across the room in a rage. He had picked it up, smoothed it, his hand stroking out the rumpled paper as though it was Neal's skin beneath his yearning hand. He had dropped it in the wastebasket.

Later that night, El caught Peter going through the trash. She smiled that Mona Lisa smile, sad, knowing, and sweet. She handed him the card and said, "I thought you might want this."

"El, I ..." Peter stumbled.

"You never stop loving once you start. You think I would want you to be different?" El said. "He isn't sending these to taunt you. I wouldn't. He wants to know you are thinking about him and haven't forgotten him."

Peter knew El was right. He kept the crumpled card and carefully stored all the ones that came after. He knew it would hurt when he finally captured Neal. He was still concerned about what his lover would say to him when Peter put the cuffs on him. He was even more concerned about how he would react. Neal was an ember in his heart, but it would not take much to fan the flames. Just a whisper.

Intending to put the letter away unread, Peter opened it.

 

"Peter,

I screwed up royally and I can't reach anyone else who could help me. I know I have no right to ask, but I am desperate now. One of my friends was convicted of helping terrorists in Peru. Believe me. She did not do it. I came here to the rescue. I freed her, but am imprisoned in Yanamayo Prison. Please come even if to take me back to prison in the United States.

OXOX

Elton Franklin "

******************

When El returned from her engagement, Peter showed her the letter. "It's from Neal. I recognize the handwriting."

"You have to go, Peter," El said.

"How can I? I suppose I could see if I could start extradition, but how can I even tell anyone how I know he is there?"

"Peter, if it was me, you would find a way," El said.

"I would, but you would have too much sense..." Peter said.

"I never told you, but my first year of college, I took one of those immersion tours in South America. My best friend, Lilly, and I were room mates with another girl, Sherri. Sherri was wild where Lily and I just wanted to be thought wild. Sherri started bringing back these Bolivian guys who had a lot of money. She kept saying that she was going to be rich. We were all supposed to fly out together, but I had this feeling. Lilly and I left a day early. Sherri never made it out. They stopped her at the airport with cocaine, cocaine in her body in bags. They arrested her. There was a struggle. A bag burst inside her and she died. The thing was, if Lilly and I had been with her; it wouldn't have made a difference that we didn't know. I could have been doing time in Bolivia." El nodded at Peter and said, "Go, get him."

Peter nodded, but reached for El, holding her in his arms. He held her as if he was comforting her, but he was the one drawing strength from the deep well of her. Peter buried his face in her hair, inhaling her into himself. What the hell was missing in Peter? He had this beautiful woman and he wanted...he still wanted his beautiful man.

OooOooO

El's work was demanding and she had a huge party to shepherd to success. On his own, his mind racing; Peter remembered something about Yanamayo Prison in relationship to an American woman who was imprisoned for allegedly aiding rebels. What he remembered wasn't good. Opening his laptop, Peter googled Yanamayo Prison and soon felt ill. The prison was located in the mountains of Peru, remote, cold, an inhospitable. The conditions were such that the prison was the hot topic wherever human rights were discussed.

The prison lacked such basic amenities as glass windows. Open bars guaranteed misery for its inmates. Most of the cells were six by six boxes. The beds were concrete slabs. There was no light in the cells and no heat. There was water from a spigot and a hole in the floor that served as a toilet. Inmates were issued two blankets, more could be provided by relatives, but Neal already said in his letter that he had no resources. Peter wondered what Neal traded to get his letter out.

Suddenly needing a stiff drink, Peter noticed his hand was shaking so hard that he had to steady it to pour.

Two drinks later, Peter called the man he knew could help, his friend, Sam. Don't ask his last name or occupation.

"Sam, I need to get someone out of Yanamayo Prison," Peter said.

"You sure you wouldn't accept a ride on Santa Claus's sleigh instead? Or how about trick or treating the U.S. treasury?" Sam asked.

Patience, Peter reminded himself. Dealing with Sam was a difficult affair. He said, "Sam, my uncle, Napoleon, sent me some money. He wanted to see me enjoy the inheritance he was going to leave me when he was still alive. I have the means. I just need the way."

"When are we leaving?" Sam asked.

"We?" Peter questioned.

"We," Sam said. "Peter, you are as bright a man as I have ever known. You are the guy I want by my side in a fight, but I am not sending you into the corrupt Peruvian prison system without training wheels, meaning me."

"From what I just read, the sooner the better," Peter said.

"I'll meet you at JFK tomorrow morning," Sam said. "Bring money for mojitos and a good picture of the target."

"I will, Sam," Peter said.

OooOooO

By the time, El came home, Peter was mildly blasted, staring at the one picture he had let himself keep of Neal. He barely looked up as El moved around, hanging up her coat, putting things away, and then...

El's warm soft body against Peter, jolting him from his fugue state and reminding him that he was not back in that terrible few months of his life, without El and before he met Neal. Sighing, Peter said, "I think I might have crawled into a bottle and stayed there if I hadn't met Neal."

"I know. I'm sorry," El said. "It's one of the decisions I made that was so wrong that I wake up and it hurts to think I did it."

"You didn't tell me to go out and fall in love with Neal," Peter replied.

"You are the most lovable man I know," El said. "You love, you commit. You have no idea how women complain about men who can't. I have the one guy who can, does, and will give his entire heart and give it forever."

"I didn't know I could give my whole heart twice," Peter said.

El took the picture from his hands. She said, "He is a beautiful man and I remember how you would gush over the phone to me about him."

"I do not gush," Peter said, but he could remember what it felt like, falling in love again. When he and El got back together, it felt like that too. He had relearned the habit of romance and found himself courting his wife with the mad rush of passion he felt for Neal. If Neal was a ghost in his heart, Peter had found healing in El. If things hadn't happened as they did, if Neal was not a con artist, a bonds forger, a robin hood of schemes and dreams, Peter was not sure what would have happened.

'You should have heard yourself," El said, laughing. "Go get him, Peter. Save him. And, darling, whatever happens, happens. He's your exception."

"My exception? Who is yours?"

"I haven't met him yet. Or her."

"Her?" Peter asked.

El laughed and said, "You are so much fun to tease. Come to bed. He can have Peru, but I want you now."

OooOooO

The airport was busy although it was mid day and mid week, but Peter had no problem picking Sam out of the crowd at Mesa Picante.

Who can adequately describe Sam, other than to say that there was never a better man to have at your side? Sam was six feet and one inch of grin in a loud Hawaiian shirt. His nose was strong and straight despite a life full of battles and it was always just a little bit red from a few too many drinks. His brow was wide and square. There was a lot of salt in the pepper of his thick brown hair. He had a prominent chin that he always told Peter was a movie star chin. He had brown eyes that seemed friendly and relaxed until you realized that everything was calculated to give that impression.

Sam was a good looking guy but it didn't strike you until you were out of his presence because Sam had the gift of misdirection. Peter had heard people describe Sam as an overweight flabby middle-aged guy. Sam wasn't young, but he was far from flabby. His solid frame and broad shoulders were matched by muscles built from a life of hard training. Sure he carried some girth around his middle, but he was strong, tough, and fast.

Peter had been bowled over by Sam on a rare joint operation several years ago, before he started chasing Neal. Peter already had the reputation for thinking outside the bounds and also for his tolerance of the eccentric. Sam was a definition of that word. Hard to believe that the alarmingly interesting military intelligence officer was once a Navy Seal. Peter always thought of Seals as humorless and ruthless; Sam spilled over with fun and was soft hearted.

The case Sam and Peter shared was a good one. Peter had been after arms dealers with ties to organized crimes. Sam was pursuing the case because the money was being used to finance anti U.S. terrorism in the Middle East. Between the two of them, they did their job, got the bad guys, saved each other's skins, and forged a friendship that Peter felt would last a lifetime.

Sam had contacts everywhere. He might appear to be a loose cannon, but things went right when he was involved. He might use you, but for the most part, he left you better than before you met him. Sam could speak a dozen languages and, if he didn't know, he could fake it. Peter knew he needed someone like this to deal with Neal's captors. Peter was intelligent and he had his devious side or he wouldn't be as good as his job as he was. However, this was beyond Peter's skill level. This would involve a major con. There wasn't time to go through the channels to have Neal legally extradited. From what Peter read about Yanamayo, every day that Neal spent in there was a death march.

One of the few Americans ever imprisoned in the remote prison near Lake Titicaca said that no one ever came out of that prison without damage. The fatality rate was appalling, and that was for nationals who were used to harsh conditions. Neal had not said how long he had been imprisoned but the last lead Peter had on him was four months ago. It might not seem long, but three or four months of living without heat in temperatures below freezing could break anyone. Add inadequate food and minimal sanitation to the cold and Peter feared for Neal's life.

The Neal that Peter remembered loved the finer things in life. He had loved being pampered. He could barely stand a speck under his nails unless he had been painting. Neal had not carried any spare flesh either. Without a reserve of fat, he would be vulnerable to rapid loss of muscle mass. Neal was beautiful, and rape was frequent and brutal in South American prisons. In that respect, Yanamayo was a smidgen safer than most since many prisoners were kept in solitary confinement.

"We need to wait a while. I had an old friend procure the documents we need," Sam said. "You ever wanted to be a U.S. marshal?"

"Suddenly I'm overwhelmed with that ambition," Peter replied.

"Great, we'll be going in with documents that will look real. We need some bribe money though," Sam said.

"I got it," Peter said, devoutly thanking Uncle Napoleon.

"You realize that you can't bust this guy once you get him back to the U.S.? Well, you can, but since he won't have been legally extradited, it won't hold." Sam said, taking Peter's arm and leading him back to the bar. "They do one hell of a Pomegranate Mojito in here."

The Pomegranate Mojito tasked like a rum flavored slurpee to Peter. "You aren't going to answer me, are you?" Sam said.

"I know I can't bust him," Peter said. "It's not about that. Neal is someone I... remember I called you when El and I broke up?"

"Yeah, and you found some hot young thing to change your luck," Sam said. "Oh, so this is him."

"It's him. He got a message to me somehow," Peter said. "I can't leave him there. I just can't."

"What does your wife think?" Sam asked.

"She thinks I won't be able to live with myself if I don't do something," Peters said.

"You're a lucky man," Sam said. "Wife number six might have been willing to video tape me and uh someone, but it would have ended up in court."

"I am lucky," Peter said, but couldn't manage to sound happy.

"And a greedy man," Sam said.

"Yeah, I am," Peter said. "The thing is, El wouldn't stop me. I guess she thinks it's her responsibility because she told me to go out and date. Didn't tell me to fall in love, but."

"You're the falling in love kind," Sam said. He ordered another Mojito.

OooOooO

It took a couple of hours for Sam's friend to show up. He didn't introduce himself, a tall, lean man with a long handsome face. He was carefully groomed, anonymous and inexpressive. "Sam, don't get in over your head," the man warned. He looked at Peter and said, "I have to be out of town, way out of town. So I won't be able to bail you out of whatever this is in Peru."

"It's cool. Don't worry. I am just babysitting my friend here," Sam said. "This guy is a straight shooter, and he needs someone devious to keep his cojones out of the fire. I fit the bill."

"Be careful," the man said. "I might need you sometime."

"Yeah, you big sentimental softy," Sam said, with a look of great affection.

Peter knew better than to ask for a name. He took the documents he was handed. Sam said, "You bring a picture of the guy?"

"Yeah," Peter said. He had kept one of Neal's pictures from that brief affair, but that was personal. He handed over the mug shot from Newark, the one taken before Neal somehow managed to walk out of jail under the guise of being another prisoner.

"Nice," Sam said, holding the picture out to catch the best light. "Pretty. Not so good to be pretty where he is."

The thud of Peter's fist against the table seemed to be the only sound in the bar. Peter said, "Don't you think I know that?"

"Easy, man, we can't do this if you let yourself lose your cool," Sam cautioned, his hand on Peter's arm.

"I know, I know, what time is our flight?" Peter said.

"An hour, I'm ordering another round," Sam said.

Both of them were more than buzzed when they boarded, but not enough to prevent being allowed to fly. Sam flirted with the flight attendant, a tall blond beauty. She was professional, but he made her smile.

Peter wished he had fallen for Sam instead of Neal. Why not someone safe - another law enforcement type?

Closing his eyes, Peter saw Neal reaching for him, his lips parted for a kiss, his torso bare, smooth sculpture of muscles and satin skin. Peter could almost span Neal's slender waist in his two hands. Only Neal. It could only ever have been Neal that he loved and could not stop loving even after he found out who Neal really was. Shaking the image from his head unsuccessfully, Peter groaned.

Sam said, "Cool?"

Finding a grim smile, Peter said, "Cool."

OooOooO

Yanamayo was located far off the beaten track, high in the Andes near Lake Titicaca. The nearest airport was Juliaca, forty five kilometers from Puno. Most people took the bus to Puno, but Sam had arranged a rental car. It was no luxury. The roads were narrow, rutted, and the basic rule of the road seemed to be survival of the fittest. The most popular color in vehicles was rust. Every bus, every truck, every car seemed overloaded with people, with produce, bundles of colorful fabric, animals, live chickens hanging helplessly by their feet, skinny pigs squealing, three goats and five kids piled into the open bed of a rickety truck.

There was growing discomfort in Peter's chest. He always researched and knew that it would take time to adjust to the altitude. The heater in the car did not work consistently. It would go out when they hit a bump and come back in when they hit another one. Peter had purchased cold weather gear that seemed ridiculous when they arrived in Peru. He had gone to the Inca Capacocha exhibit, moved and horrified by the sacrificed children, preserved by the permafrost of these same mountains. Still, even with that reminder of how cold Peru could be, the reality was harsher.

Each time the heater went out and Peter was left shivering, he thought of Neal in a dark cell, no heat at all and possibly a window with no protection from the elements, iron bars in stone walls. He thought of Neal as one of those chosen sacrifices - all picked for their beauty.

OooOooO

Several boxes awaited them in the hotel suite Sam had arranged and for which Peter had paid. He had paid for whatever the boxes had contained also. "What the hell is all of this?" Peter groused.

"Medical supplies and nutritional supplements. I can have a local doctor have a look at your boy, but the nursing care is going to be up to the two of us. I've done this before, taken operatives, informants, prisoners out of third world prisons. It's not going to be pretty, believe me," Sam said. "I'm having a cot delivered."

"He can sleep in my bed," Peter said.

"At some point," Sam said. "You won't want to when we first get him out. Believe me."

Peter didn't. He let Sam have his way, a cot was delivered and Sam made it up with a waterproof liner and disposable bedding. The boxes contained an incredible variety of medical supplies from IV bags and tubing to antibiotics. It made Peter queasy to think about it. Somehow the vision in his mind was that he marched into that prison, found Neal, perhaps a little wan and thin. Peter imagined sweeping to his former lover's rescue like a white knight. Sam's supplies were a cold dose of reality.

OooOooO

Sam and Peter entered Yanamayo with false identification as U.S. marshals. The rental car was parked by the gate where inmates emerged from the hell of the prison. Sam had prepared by covering the back seat with plastic. A garbage bag was at ready and a can of Rid lice spray.

Each step into the bowels of this dungeon was like stepping into medieval times. Even clad in a heavy winter weight suit and an overcoat substantial enough to weigh on his shoulders, Peter shivered. He handed the warrant of extradition in the name of Elton Franklin to increasingly obtuse guards. The last one held the papers upside down until he noticed the seal was at the top of the documents. Peter shook hands, handing out bribes like a Pez giving out candy.

Finally, Peter was escorted to a dim corridor. There was a steady drip of water oozing from the ceiling. There were two slots in the iron door one at about chest level and the other lower and larger. Peter peered through the top slot and saw a huddled figure sitting on the stone bench. It was noon and the sun faced this side of the prison. Even so, Peter had to strain to see any details in the dimly lit cell. Mostly he fought the urge to gag from the overwhelming stench of stale urine, feces, unwashed bodies, and rot that surrounded him. From the cell came a steady barrage of gut wrenching coughs. Peter had never heard anyone make sounds like this. Each whooping explosion ended in a grunt and then a deep wheezing gasp. The blanket wrapped figure doubled over and swayed.

"Elton?" Peter said. He leaned closer to confirm that this was Neal.

The tangled mat of hair merged into a wildly overgrown beard. Peter doubted until a strong sun beam caught blue eyes, Neal's eyes. "Help me." Or was that, "Kill me". Peter was afraid it was the latter.

"Elton!" Peter tried again. Finally, fearing the man was half mad, Peter said, "Neal, I am here."

Pushing himself up on the wall, Neal took one staggering step toward Peter before he toppled and flopped face down near a black ringed hole in the floor, his hand still moved briefly, out flung, reaching toward Peter. Peter had to grab the wall to keep from falling himself. "Neal," Peter said, soft, aching with the agony of seeing his beloved fallen to such extremes. All the anger was gone. He had to finish this, had to get Neal out of this hell.

With Sam as his translator, Peter bullied two guards into carrying Neal to the rented car. The guards kept complaining about 'los piojos'. Peter didn't need a translator to figure out this one. Neal's tangled hair that merged with a wild and unbecoming beard swam with bugs. The ragged clothing that Neal wore no doubt contained more small hitchhikers.

"That fever is making the cooties want to jump ship," Sam observed. He said, "Good thing I have enough pesticide to debug half the prison.

Peter had intended to sit with Neal, but, oh god, the stench and the lice... he itched all over at the very thought. Held up by a seat belt, Neal coughed, wet, choked, gut-twisting sounds. Neal was in and out of consciousness. Peter kept talking to him, trying to comfort him, but Peter didn't think Neal knew he was there.

"Peter, help me. Help me," Neal muttered, before an intense, whooping series of coughs made him collapse, dangling limply in the seat belt.

Looking helplessly at Sam, Peter said, "Don't let him die."

"Oh, geez, puppy dog eyes! Hang in there, Peter, if he wants to live, he will," Sam said.

OooOooO

The ragged clothing went directly into garbage bags. The doctor refused to touch Neal, but prescribed strong antibiotics after listening to his chest. The man wore an old fashioned suit and was white haired, probably French by birth. How he came to this remote village, Peter could not guess, but he thought that he was not here because he wanted to minister to the oppressed. He was not old enough to be a hiding Nazi, but Peter suspected that he was wanted somewhere.

After Sam paid the man and ushered him out, Peter complained, "I doubt he even has a license to practice."

"I just wanted a second opinion before I start pumping your boy full of antibiotics," Sam said.

"His name is Neal," Peter inserted.

"I'll name him when I'm sure he's going to live," Sam said. "Helps to keep a distance if you might end up dumping a body."

"No!" Peter said. "Not going to happen."

"He needs to fight to live," Sam said. "He have anything worth fighting for?"

"He had a girlfriend," Peter said.

"Where is she?" Sam replied, tapping the antibiotics in the hypodermic.

"I have a feeling she was the one he had to rescue and she didn't hang around to make sure he got back out. What was he in for, anyway?"

"Suspicion of helping a terrorist escape," Sam answered.

"Suspicion gets you that kind of hell hole?"

"They are really tough on terrorists here. The girl friend probably got scammed. The Tupac Amaru revolutionary group has a habit of recruiting stupid American idealists, especially women," Sam said, finishing the injection. He had on long surgical gloves and handed Peter another pair.

"Hold him up while I hack off this hair," Sam said. "Best shot is to shave his entire body after we use the treatment, but, at a minimum, this beard and that matted hair have to go."

Peter held Neal up, coughs shaking him from time to time without fully awakening him. The body was yellowish skin over bones. The hip bones jutted and every rib was on full display. Peter was sure Neal wouldn't have made it another month. His body was mottled with bites and with gouges from scratching. Peter had the feeling that Neal would have nearly preferred death to being in this condition.

The metallic clipping sounds were quick. The hair fell in clumps onto more disposable sheets. A wirework copy of the face Peter had adored emerged as most of the wild hair was swept away into the garbage.

When Sam picked up a straight razor, Peter flinched, "You sure you know how to use that?"

"Yeah, to shave or to do a little surgical extraction of the truth," Sam said and there was no grin to make that a joke.

That was Sam, friendly, frequently playing the buffoon, kind, generous with his time and favors, and a dangerous man who had survived fifteen years in a dangerous world where few survived five.

Sam's skill with the straight razor was amazing. A few sweeps and Neal's face was clean shaven. He went toward Neal's head, but Peter said, "No, I'll get the eggs out of his hair."

The body hair went too. Lastly, the groin. Sam showed no sign of embarrassment as he handled Neal's limp genitals to shave around them. Neal was peculiar in that his body hair was sparse, but his beard came in thick and quickly. Still he looked bizarre to Peter with his body more bare than a child's.

The lice shampoo smelled stingingly strong. Neal woke up, flailing feebly when he was turned around to have the thicker lotion form of the lice killer applied to his back. Sam said, "You can do his ass. You've been there before."

Peter scowled at Sam, but already knew that it was no using complaining and it was the truth after all.

At Peter's touch, Neal tried to writhe away. Peter said firmly, "Neal, listen, I have to do this. Do you hear me? It's Peter. Peter Burke. You know I won't hurt you."

"Peter? Peter's in New York, with his wife," Neal said in monotone voice.

"You sent for me and I came," Peter said. "I said it was forever. I'm here. I'm here."

"Peter, I'm so dirty," Neal said. "Don't see me like this."

"Got to do it to make you clean," Peter replied. "It's okay. My friend, Sam, and I are going to get all the bugs off you, get some good food into you and you are going to be back to yourself in no time."

Peter might have spared his words; Neal passed out again.

OooOooO

Sam orchestrated everything, calmly, without flinching, and with the swift precision of a trained medic. He took blood samples, warning Peter of high risk of hepatitis and HIV in South American prisons. He had a source to have the tests run swiftly because Sam always had sources.

After the pesticide was washed off, Peter and Sam maneuvered Neal's dead weight into the tub, a big old fashioned one that was deeper than modern ones. Peter used enough bath oils to deep fry Neal if they had been so inclined. As he scrubbed under Neal's broken finger nails, Peter winced at the state of Neal's hands. They were red, swollen, chaffed.

Sam said, "You want to wash your clothes or blankets in there; you wash them by hand in cold water. He must have tried very hard to keep his stuff clean until he became ill."

"He would have," Peter said. He shut his eyes and shuddered. This was a horror. "They should do something about Yanamayo."

"Yes," Sam said, "And Modelo in Panama. La Victoria in the Dominican Republic. All hell holes along with a dozen others. You got your boy out. That's all you can do. You save the ones you can. Come on. Let's get him out before the water cools."

Sam had purchased disposable clothing and adult diapers. Catching Peter's panicked look at the latter, Sam shrugged and said, "This is the reality of it, Peter. Believe me. It's better than the alternative."

"He'll hate it," Peter said.

"So don't tell him about it," Sam replied. "By the time he's with it enough to notice, they won't be needed."

The first day was a nightmare of trying to coax food into Neal, having him vomit it back out, and, when food stayed, it returned as nauseatingly foul smelling diarrhea that lingered in the stale air of the room. Sam was steady help but made frequent trips to the local cantina for fresh air and booze. Peter stayed because he wanted to stay and because it was his responsibility. Neal was out of it most of the time. Just as well, he would have hated this. Peter remembered his lover who was so clean and who pampered himself. Whose hair was soft waves. Whose skin was so smooth to the touch. Who loved designer clothing and was discreet of bodily functions to the point of amusing Peter.

Midway through the second day, Neal woke up as Peter worked a lice comb through his hair for the fifth time in two days. Peter had propped him up with pillows so he could have access to all of his hair.

"Peter? Is that really you?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "Your letter got to me last week."

"Oh, Peter. Peter," Neal said, his body shaking. He twisted around and grabbed Peter's shoulders, burying his face in the crook of Peter's neck. The tears were hot, falling rapidly.

"Shh, don't. Come on, Neal, it's okay now. You're going to be fine. I have you."

"But it won't. It won't," Neal said.

Whatever else Neal might have to say was lost in a burst of coughs. By the time the volley was calmed, Neal was curled in a fetal knot of pain and Peter could only rub his back, unable to ask his lover what he meant.

OooOooO

Sam was right. By the third day, Neal was able to ask to get to the bathroom in time. He was able to hold down the nutritional supplements and well enough to ask when he might have some real food.

By this time, Sam had met a sexy widow with a large hacienda. He abandoned Peter to his own devices, reminding him to keep Neal from overexerting himself. "Tests should be back soon," Sam said.

As if Peter would dream about touching the wispy creature that was all that was left of his slender but well muscled lover.

OooOooO

"I have soup if you want to try some," Peter announced when he saw that Neal was awake.

"Please," Neal said. He struggled up and said, "This cot feels like heaven after months of lying on bare concrete, but I want to sit up at the table, Peter."

"Let me help you," Peter said. He leaned down, scooped Neal up, supported him by his waist, and settled him in the armchair by the small reading table. He tucked a blanket around Neal's shoulders and another around his lap.

Neal's hand went to Peter's shoulder and he said, "Peter, if you want to take me into custody when we get back, you can. I won't say anything."

"You need months of good food, medical care, pampering if you are going to recover," Peter said. "You won't get that even if I pull strings to have you placed in a country club white collar prison. No, I'll bring you home and I'll let you go. If you're as smart as I think you are, you'll lay low, and I won't have a lead to follow. Because once I let you go, if I find out where you are, you get no special treatment."

"One time only, catch and release plan?" Neal said.

Getting the soup which Peter had Sam order with careful instructions to not add any chili peppers and to use minimal onions, Peter said, "This should be easy on your stomach. Wait a bit. It's hot."

Neal picked up the spoon that Peter placed on the table. He had another coughing fit, but it was brief and not the gut wracking variety of yesterday. "I feel like I am never going to be the same again," Neal said, when he had caught his breath.

That was one of Peter's worries. Yanamayo had the reputation of breaking the strongest men and women. Neal was probably tougher than he looked, but there were draw backs to having no reserves of fat. His body had robbed muscles to survive near starvation and attacks of diarrhea.

The bowl had only contained a few ounces of soup and mostly broth at that. Neal finished most of it, but couldn't get the last spoonfuls down. "I'm so hungry. I wake up thinking about food and then when I get it, I can barely eat."

"Come and lie down," Peter said. "We can try some more in a couple hours."

Taking Neal to his bed instead of the cot, Peter joined Neal on the bed. "I'll hold you like I used to hold you."

"Oh, Peter, I wish there was a third way. I'd be a willing prisoner if they just let me stay with you," Neal said.

"Until the next time your girlfriend gets in over her head," Peter chided.

"You don't understand," Neal said.

"What don't I understand? That you let revenge derail your life? That misguided loyalty made you break the law."

"And I found out I liked it, matching wits with the security consultants, the cops, the greedy financiers," Neal said. "Then I found out the FBI had assigned you to catch me and it was so perfect. If you caught me, I know I was caught by the best. If I beat you, it was just as perfect. I could leave you small hints and you would chase me. I loved it."

Neal's frail hand, spider monkey fingers and bony wrist, traced under Peter's shirt. "I would have given it all up for you, Peter. I thought I could get Harford Adams and just stop. I was ready to give up on ..."

"Kate," Peter supplied. "Yeah, I know about Kate and how her family took you in when you were a scared little runaway."

"I would have given it all up for you, Peter," Neal said. "I don't know how you tied my crimes to me and to Kate."

"I didn't figure it out," Peter said. "I'm a paranoid bastard and when I get serious about someone I check their background and make sure that I'm not falling in love with someone I can't handle. It's stupid, it's illegal, and I was wrong anyway to think you can turn love on and off. When I found out who you really were, what you had done, it was the worst day of my life, but I didn't stop loving you. Why do you think I'm here?"

"I thought maybe to take me in," Neal said. "You get to be the white knight and a good cop in the same move. Save my life and put me in prison. I knew you would come, though, because you are good, Peter. The man I wish I was. The best man I know."

"I wish," Peter said. "If I was a better man..."

What? Elizabeth wouldn't have left him?

Or Neal would have quietly closed the door on his life of crime, and Peter would have built him a love nest. Who knows what would have happened with El, because Peter remembers having that greedy heart that wanted his beautiful man and his beautiful wife.

"I wish I had not found out," Peter said.

"There's no way we can go back?" Neal asked. "Or that...if I came to you from time to time?"

"No, love," Peter said. "No, I can't do that. This is it."

"And I'm such a wreck, you would probably break me if you made love to me," Neal said. "It's still worth trying."

"Not tonight," Peter said. "Dying for my love might seem romantic, but think how I would feel. I'll take another week off when we get back. My uncle's partner has what he calls a dacha in California. I'm sure he will loan it to us."

"What kind of partner?"

"The best kind," Peter explained. "My once famous playboy of an uncle fell in love with his male partner in law enforcement. They retired together and have been married in all but the law since then."

"I'm sad," Neal said. "When I found out you volunteered on same sex marriage campaigns, I thought it was that my flame was still alive in your heart."

"I would have proposed," Peter said, tracing the line of Neal's face from broad, substantial forehead to straight nose and a chin cleft like an old fashioned movie star. "It was one month, but I knew."

For the second time in so many hours, Neal wept, as if his heart was shattered, as if he could not dam this flood of grief, as if the gods had written this tragedy that he might forever grieve what could have been.

And Peter held Neal. Peter cried despite being a strong man, because he was everything male and good. Because, the most noble heart breaks harder.

OooOooO

Peter woke with cold where Neal had been. He reached for the emptiness and tried to force himself to be grateful. He had to get used to it for the rest of his life. He heard Sam's voice unexpectedly. "You look better. Peter been taking good care of you?'

Sam led Neal back to Peter's bed, guiding him below the covers as if there was noting unusual about the situation. Who knows. Perhaps to Sam this was normal and the rest of the universe was canted.

"What happened to the widow?"

"Husband was not as dead as he seemed," Sam said. "What say we start our journey to Lima now that Neal is up and about?"

"Might be a wise idea," Peter agreed. "How mad is the husband?"

"Let us say that he will be even more angry when he unties the knots that bind him to his bed," Sam said.

"Neal, you ready to go to Lima?"

"Wherever you want to go, Peter," Neal said.

Most of the medical supplies were donated to the village clinic, which was not run by the French physician who had so briefly examined Neal. Sam had found Neal a minimal wardrobe and a heavy coat, but the rental car still didn't have a consistently working fan. Peter bundled Neal in blankets and sat holding him in his arms as Sam negotiated the steep road that got them farther from Puno.

"Neal?" Peter said.

"Yes, Peter?" Neal replied.

"Sam cut you a new identity. Us too. I'm Peter North. You're Jeremy North, my brother, and Sam is Paul Glass, my business associate. We were traveling on business when you became ill. We'll be flying directly out of Lima once we get there. The sooner we leave Peru, the better," Peter said.

Neal was laughing. "This one place I lived as a kid was bible thumping and always talking about brotherly love. I'm up for some of that."

"I ought to spank you," Peter said, but his voice was tender, "It seemed the best way I could take care of you, touch you this much. Given the culture of this country, it's the only way. Get some sleep, Neal. I have you."

Bundled in his coat and blankets, Neal relaxed, his head on Peter's shoulder trustfully. Peter felt Neal settled into the deep breaths of sleep. Neal was heavy against Peter, the weight of him so fragile but an immensity to burden Peter's heart. This was a mistake. Having him like this and knowing that he would have to let him go was torment and sweetness. If it was not for El, Peter thought he would find a place where he never needed to go back, never needed to fit himself into the skin of Peter Burke, FBI agent who someday might have to catch Neal Caffrey, thief of hearts.

OooOooO

Neal peered down at South America until it vanished in the clouds and then he sighed deeply, holding tight to Peter's leg beneath the blanket that covered him. "Putting Peru on a list of places I am never going again."

"Good idea," Peter said. "How's your stomach?"

"Empty and wanting to be filled," Neal said. "Airline food even sounds good."

Peter felt satisfied with Neal's progress. He was still weak and thin, but now he was holding down food and able to eat more. "Tell me about college, Neal. Tell me what that was like for you."

There were few safe topics they could discuss on this plane, and Sam was somehow sitting next to an attractive older woman who seemed intrigued by him. Peter had the feeling that Sam would be debarking in different direction than Neal and he would. He smiled at Sam's head which was bent toward his willing prey. Thank god for Sam. The woman might end up spending a great deal of money on him, but he was a bargain at that. She would be enriched by the days spent in dalliance with him.

"I loved it," Neal said. "I graduated from high school young."

Peter nodded. Neal had been not quite seventeen. Impressive for a kid with no real supports. He had been living with Kate's family by then, an unofficial foster child, a runaway for whom no one was searching. "High school was okay, but nothing like college. Studying was a breeze for me. I took as many credits as I could with work study filling part of my day. Art, history, a smattering of business as I was dreaming about having an art gallery or being a curator for a museum. Oh, I wanted my art to take off, but I was being practical. Can you imagine that, Peter? Me, practical."

"I bet your professors loved you," Peter said.

Blush, evasive look. Oh, Peter didn't know about that. His research covered Neal's associates, but mostly the ones that dated from the time Neal engaged in criminal activities. "One more so than the others?" Peter shot back.

"Yeah, they loved me," Neal said, a little short. "The one that loved me more than the others was a married professor, who was an artist, a published poet, and in the running for department head. He seduced me with his words, his art, said I was his inspiration. His wife was money, connections, but I was too young to understand that. I wanted him to be proud of me, Peter. I wanted him to acknowledge how much I meant to him. I didn't give him an ultimatum, but I tried to give him a kiss in public. He made a joke of it, said young students are so impressionable, especially the gay ones. Dropped me from his classes for propriety's sake then tried to see me in private, but I fell right out of love with him when he laughed."

"I'm sorry," Peter said.

"How's your marriage these days? I know you went back to her," Neal said flatly.

"It's good. She knows I'm with you. She encouraged me to come," Peter replied. "And I'm not ashamed of you, Neal, but I do love my work. It's important work, and people are hurt by white collar crimes."

"Even when the criminals are less venial than the ones they fleece?" Neal said.

"We have a system of justice, Neal. It's imperfect, flawed, but necessary. If everyone took justice in their own hands, it would be chaos. They wouldn't all use their wits like you. Some would, do, use guns. I wish I could show you the other side, Neal. I wish I could show you why you have to stop."

"You could stop me," Neal said, "only you."

Looking at Neal's big blue eyes, shining with emotion, feeling Neal cling to him, Peter shook his head and said, "I wish I could. If I ever find a way..."

Peter took Neal's hand under the blanket and held it hard. "But we'll have a week. That's forever."

"Forever," Neal said.

Peter sighed. Forever until he had to return to his world without Neal. Forever until someone asked another favor and Neal dug himself deeper into crime. He could not bear the thought of Neal's beauty in a cage, but he was deathly afraid that was the only way this would end.

OooOooO

As Peter suspected, Sam parted ways as soon as they landed in Los Angeles. Sam hugged him. Hugged Neal and said something into his ear that Peter could not hear, a warning, an offer to help if needed in the future, perhaps both.

"You have good friends, Peter," Neal said.

"The best," Peter said. "Do you have any?"

"I have friends all over, but only one like Sam, the one thousandth man. He's an odd guy, but I trust him as I trust no other."

"More than you trust Kate?"

"Don't, Peter, don't go there," Neal begged.

"Okay, come on. My uncle left a car for us to use," Peter said.

OooOooO

Peter made Neal sit and wait for him while he went to fetch the car. His lover's eyes lit up as he saw the 1967 Corvette Stingray. "Oh, wow, are you sure your uncle is taken? I could fall in love with him if he would let me drive that beauty."

"When you feel better, we'll go for ride," Peter said, wanting to give Neal everything he could in the few days outside of the world. That was how he thought of this, beyond the constraints of his work, beyond time, a world where Neal and Peter could be lovers without pain or compromise.

Venice Beach was a pastel version of what it had been when Jim Morrison stalked its boulevards, but it would be a wonderful place for Neal to recover. Peter had only been to his uncle's beach house once. It had been right after El and he had moved back in together, a second honeymoon. Now, he was here with Neal. His life had a terrifying and beautiful symmetry.

"Beautiful car, beautiful house," Neal said, as Peter helped him up the stairs.

"Yeah, my uncle likes to live well," Peter said.

"Beautiful partner too?" Neal asked, as they entered the living room. It was sand, gold, blue as the sky in décor.

"Oh, yeah, reminds me a bit of you. He's slim and he has beautiful blue eyes," Peter said. "He's smart too, like you. He and my uncle are in Russia right now, celebrating the birth of grand nephews. Twins."

"Look at these icons! These are wonderful!" Neal said, crossing the room to an alcove. "Hey, it's St. Peter. Your namesake."

"Neal...."

"Don't be ridiculous. I would never steal from a good host," Neal said. He lit the small candle in the alcove, bowed his head for a moment. Peter watched, fascinated. Somehow he hadn't seen Neal as having religious leanings, but then again, perhaps Neal bowed his head to the beauty of the icon instead.

His moment of silence quickly passed, Neal said, "Peter, I want a nice long hot bath."

"Okay, I'll show you where the bathroom is. You're going to love this too," Peter said eagerly.

There were several mirrors in the giant bathroom. They surrounded half the sunken sauna bath. Stained glass window arched from floor to ceiling. The rainbow of brilliant color contained exotic birds, flowers, vines, a golden galaxy of stars scattered in the scintillating garden.

Undressing in front of the mirror, Neal winced as he gazed at his reflection. He said, "I look horrible. It's not true that you can't be too thin. I'm hideous. And then there's my body hair or lack thereof. Are you sure that your Sam wasn't just being kinky? I look like the cover boy for an X rated version of those urchins you're supposed to spend two dollars a month to sponsor."

Peter came up behind Neal and it didn't matter that Neal's stomach was concave, his muscles ropelike strings. It was true that Neal's body which was still mostly hairless after being shaved made Peter very uneasy. Peter stroked gently over Neal, down his arms, brushing over his chest, and ending on the sharpness of his hips before briefly petting the stubble growing back over his groin. Peter kissed Neal's neck. "You are beautiful, Neal, so beautiful. I hold that in my heart. I always have."

Turning around, Neal buried his face in Peter's chest. "Will you bathe with me?"

"I would love to," Peter replied. He undressed rapidly as Neal filled the tub.

The water was hotter than Peter would have poured it and he wouldn't have added the bath salts and the oil, but whatever Neal wanted. That was his mantra for this week.

It was nice lounging in the tub; Neal pillowed between his legs, head on Peter's stomach. "Comb my hair for me, Peter," Neal said. "The only nice thing about those first two days was you combing my hair. I knew why, but it was still wonderful. You have such kind hands. My skin longed for your touch all this time."

Peter obeyed. Neal's hair was already regaining its thickness and curl. He was a good healer, Peter thought. Although if Peter could prevent it, there would be no need for him to have that gift. Neal had always seemed somewhat frail to Peter even though before it had not really been true in the past. Now it was abundantly true.

Letting his hand stray to Neal's cock, Peter was taken back for a moment at the sensation of the naked skin above, just a bristle to remind that the dark curls would grow back. Conquering the brief discomfort, Peter stroked down the length and was pleased to feel Neal respond. He was hard against his lover, wanting, wishing he could take him like they had fucked in the past, hour long trysts with no ounce of flesh spared from the intensity of their lovemaking.

Instead Peter moved slowly and lazily. At least, he tried to do so until Neal turned, all slippery and his mouth hungry, his tongue thrusting, his hands supplicating, his body struggling for closer, closer, and, if he pressed any harder, they would be merged.

"Please," Neal said. "Please, take me. Please, I need you."

It worried Peter but he wanted Neal so badly that he pushed away his concerns. He half carried Neal to the big bed, so carefully made up for the next guest. They couldn't stop touching each other. Preparations were complicated by kisses that took Peter's breath away, that made Neal moan and writhe.

Finally, Peter's fingers opened the familiar way. He slid a condom on. They had never gone without them but had talked about it. Now Neal didn't even ask.

It was as Peter liked it best, face to face, Neal's legs over his shoulders, his cock deep inside Neal, claiming him over and over.

Peter slowly pressed inside, taking his time, afraid that this was too soon, but unable to stop himself. It was familiar. Not like getting on a bike. Oh, no, not that. This was nerves with quicksilver sensation running rampant. This was muscles launching Peter into a mating flight. This was thrusting deep into the heart of life and love. This was Neal and this was Peter. A universe filled with two who were one.

It took so long for Neal's breathing to ease that Peter was stabbed through with guilt. A salvo of wheezes reawakened by the exertion made the after glow more of a disaster. Peter got up, still weak legged from orgasm, to get Neal a drink of water and a decongestant capsule.

"So much for lingering in the moment," Neal remarked wryly after catching his breath.

"We have to be careful," Peter said, propping the pillows for himself and then moving Neal into his embrace. His arms wrapped around Neal, wanting to keep him safe, wanting to keep him three days past eternity, just like this. Naked with each other. Emotions sans shields. Skin against skin, hearts beating in staccato rhythm with each other.

A moment later, Neal was heavier in Peter's arms, sleeping peacefully although he still looked like a debauched angel, with his dusky lashes and the lips ripened with kisses. Peter accepted the weight of his lover, the leaden density of this love that was a whole ball of wrong and everything that was right. Heaven and hell in a slight body, a quick mind, and a pair of radiantly blue eyes.

OooOooO

The next day was about speed and slow motion. That 1967 Corvette roaring down the speedway with the top down, Neal's white teeth grinning like a jack o lantern, the way he kept glancing back at Peter to share his joy. The quiet walk along the bluffs, holding hands and then, of all things, Neal wanted to go to Rodeo Beach where he waded in among romping dogs. Neal was in the blue water with his cerulean eyes and the sun shining from within. The tide crashed in and Peter had to catch Neal by the waist, lifting him off his feet, when a sudden wave took him by surprise. A moment cast in a sculpture of sand, sun, and love as Neal threw his arms around Peter's neck and laughed for unfettered joy.

Lunch at Pezzulo's with a house wine and fresh pasta. The chef came out with tiramisu on the house 'to put some weight on the ailing young man.'.

Neal ceded the wheel to let Peter drive back, exhausted and happy, napping as the world spun by all too quickly.

OooOooO

The next day they came three times, but made love all day. Neal spread naked on the bed as Peter memorized him, the wirework of bone and muscle starting to be glazed over with flesh now. The swan neck, the prominant brow, the long elegant line of jaw, all traced, all kissed, burned into Peter's memories.

The second time, Peter said, "Come inside me. I want to give that to you. I want to give you everything I can."

Deep intake of breath and Neal's eyes so wide and devouring. "You're sure?"

"I wouldn't offer if I wasn't," Peter said steadily.

"Oh, Peter," Neal said.

It had been a very long time. Last time was Nate. Peter wasn't willing to let anyone else do that to him. It just seemed so intimate, an act he associated with love and Nate, whether that was fair to the men he had dated or not.

Neal's fingers trembled inside him. Peter said, "I won't break, Neal. You won't hurt me."

The hot liquid touch was unexpected. Neal coaxed him open with his tongue. It was almost enough just to lie there, that sweet exploration nearly sending Peter over the edge, but then again, he wanted more.

"Neal, Neal, I'm waiting," Peter said.

"Hey, let me take my time," Neal said. "I've been waiting nearly three years."

"Two years, six months, two weeks," Peter said, punctuating his words with a soft moan as Neal's fingers found his spot. "But I'm not waiting longer."

"Okay, okay," Neal said.

Peter felt the fingers withdraw and turned, wanting to see Neal taking him. His eyes were open and he gazed at Neal as his lover's face twisted a bit as he breached the barrier, as he pushed inside of Peter. It was uncomfortable and Peter had a moment where he wondered how come he ever liked this. Then Neal thrust and there were stars flooding Peter's eyes, deep bursts of pleasure white hot inside him. Again, and again, Peter moved with Neal, feeling him respond with shuddering gasps. Peter was close, was hovering so near, was coming and coming, his semen marking Neal, claiming him. Neal was wearing a condom, but Peter could still feel the heat of him. Someday he wanted to have this again with flesh as naked as their hearts are naked and unashamed.

Peter saw Neal's eyes flutter as he withdrew. He eased his lover down, stripped off the condom, tied it and tossed it. "Thank you," he said.

"You know why I couldn't let you give that to me before. I wouldn't steal that from you when I was wearing that mask of innocence. I would not have you with my lies," Neal said.

"But you gave me yourself," Peter reminded.

"Yes, because loving you was no lie," Neal said.

"What about her?" Peter said.

"She needs me, Peter, she's not bad," Neal said. "When I'm with her, I feel like a super hero. I am the one who protects her. I like that. Almost as much as I like being taken care of by you. I want to be with you, but you won't let me."

"I can't let you," Peter said. "I can't. If I could find a way, if I could change history, but I can't. If you turn yourself in, Neal, maybe I could broker a deal."

"I think you are going to have to catch me," Neal said. "Catch me, Peter."

Peter wasn't sure what Neal meant. All he could do was hold him. Hold him for a moment. Wish that it was forever.

OooOooO

The next day they spent the morning shopping, buying Neal clothing to fit his too slender frame. Peter let Neal pick out a suit a little more fashionable than the ones he thought of as his Clark Kent disguise.

They were having lunch when Peter's almost forgotten cell phone rang. There was a major counterfeit ring discovered. Peter's old partner, Randall, was shot in pursuit of the suspect. They weren't sure that Randall would make it and Peter was needed back immediately.

Neal heard every word. "It's over then," Neal mourned. "I know you have to go."

"You stay here, stay here as long as you want to stay. My uncle won't care. Neal, if you want, my uncle could arrange a new identity. A clean start."

"A clean start that wouldn't include you?" Neal questioned. He shook his head and said, "Do we have time to go to the beach one more time? I want you to leave me there. I want your last memory of me until we meet again is to see me happy, healthy, free, the way you made me."

It was romantic and ridiculous and unarguably Neal.

Peter turned to see Neal smiling as he walked in the sunshine, the waves licking at his rolled up trousers. There was a sweep of light, a burst of strong scintillating radiance that blinded Peter. It was almost as if some deus ex machine was determined to steal Neal away before Peter was even one hundred feet away from the man he loved.

Peter walked away, back to his uncle's car, to the airport, to his loving wife, and to a skin that fit him less and less as time went by.

Peter knew that the next time he saw Neal, he would be arresting him. Then what? How could it come out right?

The end

**Author's Note:**

> Follows Steal Yourself Away where Peter Burke meets Neal Caffrey during a break with Peter's wife, Elizabeth. Set before the series pilot.


End file.
